


Oh god, Dick's going to be so proud

by ALzzza



Series: Heart of the Home [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: BAMF Tim Drake, Bad Ass Big Brother, Brotherly Love, Bullying, Damian Wayne Feels, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Good Brother Tim Drake, Racism, Tim Drake Cares About Damian, Tim Drake is CEO, Xenophobia, he's just a, it's not mentioned but whatever, just shhhh, kind of, okay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 11:42:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18810202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALzzza/pseuds/ALzzza
Summary: “Tim Drake? I’m calling in regard toDamian Wayne—”When Tim said he’d do anything to get out of work this is not what he meant.Or, Damian Gets In Trouble And Tim’s The Only One There To Pick Him Up, Misunderstandings Ensure





	Oh god, Dick's going to be so proud

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure how likely Tim would actually be to turn vegan—but I like the idea that at least one of the Batboys kind of picks it up from Damian and he seems like the most likely choice out of all of them. Plus, there’s the added bonus that it’s Tim _and _Damian.__
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> _TW: Bullying + Racism_  
> 

Tim’s on his second coffee by the time he much more than glances at his food. It’s Monday morning and he kind of feels like dying is a better idea than walking into work, would probably ignore all his responsibilities if only Bruce wouldn’t give him the disappointed frown, or _worse_ —grow concerned and ban him from patrolling.

 

It’s not like he really _can_ , but still—it’s the principle of the thing.

 

It’s just Tim, Bruce and Damian at the Manor today. _And_ Alfred, of course.

 

Breakfast is always a little more reserved when it’s just them. _A lot_ quieter, which Tim appreciates today.

 

Bruce and Damian are fully absorbed in their own food further down the table, and Tim finally does the same—looks to the meal Alfred had prepared for them. Scramble tofu with fried vegetables as far as Tim can tell. He’s had it before a couple times since Damian turned vegan, it’s good.

 

Lets his mind wonder as he eats, fork clicking against the plate in a sure, repetitive sound—echoed by the other inhabitants of the room.

 

It’s a little funny, Tim finds himself turning vegan by association more and more—especially while at the Manor. A lot of it has to do with the amount of vegetables the meals Damian seems to favor _have_ , it just makes _sense_ to pack in as much nutritional value as he can while he can when he’ll most likely be too busy to eat later down the track. _Or_ _forget_.

 

It helps he’s not opposed to the general idea behind eating fewer animal products—he’d looked it up ages ago when he’d met Gar and it _is_ better for the environment. Mostly he just hadn’t had the time or know how to bring it up with Alfred—not like Damian has—and had ended up forgetting about it as much as one can with people like Poison Ivy running around.

 

Alfred must have noticed though, because he’s been making more and more vegan meals for everyone, especially when it’s just Tim, Damian and Bruce around.

 

Tim looks up the table at Bruce again—watches as he eats a similar meal and wonders if he’s at all opposed to the idea. He doesn’t _seem_ to mind, but that doesn’t really mean much when it comes to _Bruce_. At least, Tim doesn’t _think_ he’s said anything to Alfred about it for all that counts.

 

He side eyes Damian as well—absently eating his breakfast all the while—wonders if he’s noticed the change. Probably not, or maybe he’s just attributed it all to _his_ influence like the little brat he is. Well, that and Alfred’s good will. Whatever the case Tim’s relieved it’s not been mentioned—doesn’t want to _think_ about having something in common with _Damian_.

 

Blows out a breath—finishes his breakfast then looks at the clock; he should have time for _one_ more cup of coffee before he’s needed at Wayne Enterprises...

 

He heads toward the coffee machine.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He’s been at WE three hours when his phone rings—shocking him out of his thoughts. He peers at it sitting innocently on his desk; thinks about ignoring the unknown number, before chastising himself at the really terrible idea that is. The world could be falling down for all he knows—kind of hopes it _is_ if it gets him out of the proposals he’s reading.

 

He sighs, grabs it and answers. “Hello?”

 

“Is this Timothy Drake speaking?” A young woman asks on the other end, sounding perfectly professional.

 

“Yes.” He says, a little suspicious, “That’s me. May I ask who’s calling?”

 

She hums, answering swiftly, “I’m calling from Gotham Academy, sir. You’re listed as one of Damian Wayne’s emergency contacts—I can’t get ahold of Mr. Wayne or Mr. Grayson, sir, and Damian has been called to the principal’s office for hitting another student. Principal Simons would like to speak with you in regard to this behavior.”

 

...That had not been what Tim was expecting. He hadn’t even _known_ he _was_ one of Damian’s emergency contacts—though, he supposes it makes sense from a strategic stand point. Bruce and Dick aren’t always available—now being a prime example. It would’ve been nice if someone had _told_ him though.

 

He’s already resigning himself to an even longer Monday, getting up when he speaks, “Of course, I’ll be there as soon as I can be.”

 

“Great. If you’ll meet at the office, Mr. Drake, I can show you to Miss Simons office. Thank you for your time.” And then she’s gone; leaving Tim to walk out of Wayne Tower with only his thoughts.

 

He does so easily, stepping into the car and leaving—feels like this is definitely karma for wishing he didn’t have to work today—instead he gets to pick up _Demon Brat_ because he just _couldn’t_ keep his hands to himself.

 

It’s almost like he doesn’t understand the concept of secret identities _at all_ ; there’s no way he hasn’t been given the same lectures about not engaging, not being seen fighting—it’s a couple steps from there. Anyone could easily see the same height, skin tone and hair color then _BAM_! Everyone’s secret ID discovered just like that.

 

All because _Prince Damian_ couldn’t control his murderous urges. This all seems oddly typically to Tim.

 

After all that’s all Damian has done since he’d gotten here; fight with him. Hell, he’s fought with _all_ of them. Though, he supposes he can’t deny he’s getting better. Now he’s only trying to kill _Tim_.

 

And of course, he’s the only one here to pick him up—Bruce he knows, was called into the Watchtower earlier and Dick had left for San Fran this morning to help Teen Titans with something, apparently Starfire had called him which is unusual on its own.

 

He sighs, feels very long-suffering given the whole _situation_.

 

Still, he gets out of the car anyway; Gotham Academy looks tall and imposing as usual. It’s weird, walking through the gates and not being a student. Walking through the gates when he’s by all rights an adult.

 

Moving through the empty halls is eerie as always—but it has an added sense of _he’s not meant to be here_. Just an outsider walking through familiar corridors. Feels like a ghost stalking an old haunt, _why is he here_? echoing after every step.

 

He gets to the office, walks in to find a competent looking woman seated at the desk—dark hair, pointy nose, brown eyes. She looks up as he walks in, eyes scanning Tim severely. He knows what she sees; some kid playing dress up, he doesn’t back down though—watches her with steely eyes of his own.

 

It’s her mistake if she underestimates him—he’s played it to his favor too many times to count. She must see this written in the set of his shoulder; smart of her—because she just asks, “Mr. Drake?” She doesn’t wait for him to answer before continuing, “Miss Simons is ready for you; second door on the left.” She points further down the hall and Tim nods, smiles at her all fake charm—the one reserved for galas and paparazzi. She’s already looking at her computer though, fingers tapping away.

 

Tim has to brace himself before reaching for the door handle. Hopes to god he gets through this without Damian starting something. All he needs is Brat Wonder mouthing off—or worse, trying to start a fight.

 

Tim takes a deep breath and walks in.

 

 

* * *

 

 

His first thought when he walks into the office is Damian looks too small sitting in the twenty-year-old office chair. His second is to remind himself that hitting a child is not something he should be condoning let alone participating in. But he can’t help it; he’d walked into the office and the first thing he’d noticed was _Damian looks too small in that office chair_ and some shit of a kid was _leering_ at him.

 

It’s not hard to figure out from there what’s been going on—Tim doesn’t think he’s ever hated a kid on sight as much as he does that little twerp—because it’s not _hard_ to figure out he’s been bullying Damian, it’s not _hard_ to notice the way Damian shrinks away from that kid, it’s not _hard_ to see how vulnerable Damian looks behind his perfectly blank face, and Tim hates it.

 

If it’s so easy to see now, why didn’t he see it _before_?

 

He forgoes the spare chair completely—face a cool mask he usually saves for Red Robin—walks instead, to stand behind Damian’s chair. It’s not the subtlest intimidation tactic he’s ever used, but mostly he just doesn’t _care_. He doesn’t want to look at that stupid fucking kid and his righteous fucking Mother any more than he needs to—doesn’t want Damian to be in the same fifty-mile radius let alone _room_. He _can’t_ sit down, not when Damian looks too small in his chair and not when Miss Simons looks so calm in hers.

 

 _How can you be so calm? You let this happen_.

 

“Mr. Drake,” she greets, “We weren’t expecting you.”

 

Tim smiles all charm, says sickly sweet, “Dad is busy at Wayne Enterprise,” Lie. “Running a company isn’t particularly easy you know?” He laughs like they’re sharing a joke before continuing, “And Officer Grayson’s a bit busy at work;” Lie. “Police and all, things can get a little hectic. I’m Damian’s next of kin.” He brings his hands up to rest on his shoulders gently, only half for the act. Squeezes reassuringly and hates the way Damian leans into it, because it’s all _wrong_.

 

Miss Simons smiles falsely at him, shifting in her chair—obviously a little wrong footed at Tim’s name drop. _Good_. “Right. Well, now that you’re here we can begin.”

 

Tim let’s his smile sharpen, “Of course.”

 

“As I’m sure you were notified, Damian hit Mr. Tony Cline here. Now,” She leans forward in her chair, lacing her fingers together, “Here at Gotham Academy we have a very strict no violence policy. Damian is very clearly in breach of it; we are here to discuss his punishment.”

 

She pauses for a breath and Tim uses it to cut in smoothly, “And your policy on bullying?” He feels Damian shift under his hands, but mostly pays no mind—caught in a staring contest with his principal, who looks quite obviously taken back. Ha, like Tim would lay down for her.

 

“What?” She blurts, startled.

 

Tim continues, gaze unwavering, “Well, surely you have one, Miss Simons. All schools do. Bullying is a serious issue; I’d hate to find you without prevention methods.”

 

She blinks at him. “Of course, bullying is a topic taken with the up most care.”

 

Tim smiles thinly at her, says pleased, “Good. Then we can also discuss the punishment to be given to young Mr. Cline for the continued torment against my brother.” For his part, _Tony_ doesn’t say anything from his place in the room.

 

The twerp’s _Mother_ does though, breaking out in protest before Tim’s even finished, “How dare you!” She cries, bottle blonde hair glistening in the light, “Tony would _never_ bully anyone! That is a _graceless_ _accusation_. You have no evidence behind that claim!”

 

“No.” Tim replies evenly, “I just have mine and my family’s word; Damian told us some months ago now about Mr. Cline’s behavior towards him. We told him to ignore it.” He switches his attention to Miss Simons again, dismissing the Mother altogether; raises one eyebrow at her and says, “I assume that’s what you tell your students as well, Miss Simons. After all, we trusted it would never get to the point of physical blows with your teachers their to catch and prevent any misbehavior preempted. Obviously, we were mistaken.” Lie, lie, _lie_.

 

On her part she frowns, looking displeased at the notion. She glances at Damian asking gently, “Is that true Damian?”

 

Damian frowns, looking at the floor. Mumbles quietly, “I told them when it started.” Tim’s not even sure if the nerves are an act, and it makes him see red. Why didn’t Damian tell Dick? Bruce? Surely, they would’ve done _something_ if he had. Why hadn’t Tim _noticed_?

 

Miss Simons looks towards _Tony_ who isn’t even trying to hide his furious glare—it falls a bit short considering he’s _ten_ but that doesn’t stop Tim wanting to drag Damian away from _everything_.

 

She frowns quite deeply at him before looking back at Damian, seems to decide in a split second what she’s going to do because she looks back at Tim, eyes determined. “If that’s the case then I’d like to apologize on behalf of the entire teaching staff for not picking this up. I assure you; it will not happen again.” Only then does she turn towards Tony, asks as gentle as she did Damian, “Do you have anything to say about Damian’s claims Tony?”

 

Annnd, Tim _may_ have misjudged her—she obviously knows what she’s doing, asking after she’s already apologized for his actions. There’s no way Tony’s going to deny his anything _now_ , especially if he wasn’t making any attempts earlier.

 

Tim’s proven right when Tony stays silent, gaze moving to stare at the floor. His mother, however, does not. Her long-manicured nails waving around in outrage. “This is ridiculous! There is _no way_ Tony was bullying that _child_.” The way she says it puts Tim’s skin on edge, hands tightening a smidge on Damian’s shoulders—eyes boring into her as she speaks, “He was _assaulted_! I demand _he_ be punished!” She moves to point at Damian, long fingers dangling in front of his face. Tim can feel Damian twitch away from her; moving automatically, like she was about to strike him.

 

And Tim wants to move in front of him, shield him from this woman’s ire entirely—he can’t though, leans forward instead until she backs off, glaring at her fiercely. Opens his mouth because he has quite a lot to say about _that_ , but Miss Simons cuts in.

 

“And he will be; a month of library detention in his break shall do. Tony will also be serving detention for a month; separately, picking up rubbish with a teacher. Hopefully it will remind you boys that neither bullying nor physical violence is acceptable behavior.”

 

 _Physical violence_ —Tim eyes Tony doubtfully, can’t find any sign that Damian hit him—maybe a blow hidden under his clothes? Still, he doubts it was more than a glorified love tap. Damian’s a trained and deadly _assassin_ —vigilante _now_. Tim has no doubt if he’d wanted to hurt Tony he would and _could_ have done a lot worse. Physical violence? That’s one hell of a stretch.

 

Feels distinctly guilty, because walking in he hadn’t doubted Damian had simply decide attacking someone was acceptable behavior. When really, it seems Damian had held out until he simply couldn’t anymore.

 

Still, he doesn’t argue with Miss Simons. Wants this all to be over and done with so he can take Damian _home_ —away from that stupid little kid and his stupid little glare.

 

Tony’s Mother does open her mouth though, quite widely—looking ready to yell some more. Shuts up before she can even start when _both_ Tim and Miss Simons round on her. Staring her into silence, she sits back with a huff, looking clearly displeased but doesn’t argue.

 

Tim looks back to Miss Simons, smiles all charm again, “Well then. Thank you for your time Principal Simons. I’m glad we got this sorted out, but if you don’t mind, I’ll be taking Damian home now.” He musses Damian’s hair, _purely_ for the act—not at all because he _can_.

 

Miss Simons smiles at the display, says, “Of course. Thank you for coming in, Mr. Drake. Damian’s a good kid.” She nods and stands, showing them out of the room.

 

And wow, _a good kid_ —there’s no way Tim’s _not_ going to use that one. A good kid, _Damian_? Adorable.

 

Peers down at Damian, looks at the still ridged set of his shoulders. Amends, _later though_.

 

They walk to the car in silence—doors closing with a dull thud as they seat themselves. Tim turns the key, ignition starting with a thrum but makes no move to drive. Looks instead at Damian who looks like he’d rather forget this whole thing has happened, Tim might’ve even taken him up on that—it’s just... He _can’t_.

 

“Damian?” Tim asks softly, looks to the little boy in his passenger’s seat with nothing but concern, only a fraction of what he’s feeling making it to his face. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Damian doesn’t look at him, stares fixedly at the glove compartment instead. And just when Tim’s starting to think he won’t, gearing himself up to reassure him that he _doesn’t have to_ —this is a conversation better suited for Dick anyway—Damian’s asking in mock harshness—hands griping his knees until they turn a stark white, “Why are you _here_?”

 

His voice is clipped, and his shoulders are still set rigidly—Tim doesn’t let his eyes wonder from his face. Keeps himself relaxed even as he answers, “Bruce got called into the Watchtower last minute and can’t get away, Dick’s in California—helping the Titans with something. I don’t think he even got the school’s call.” Tim wouldn’t put it past Dick to drop everything for Damian—for _family_. He’s done it before.

 

In the seat beside him Damian relaxes subtly—not so much that he’s still not stiff, not so much that any normal person would’ve _noticed_ , but Tim does. Wonders if Damian thought Dick and Bruce had just decided _not_ to come pick him up, like he wasn’t worth the time in the grand scheme of things. Feels like he can relate to that at least—he’d felt the same, still does sometimes. After all, why would _Batman_ waste his time on school meetings?

 

Bruce, however, always has time for it—always _makes_ time, unless he can’t.

 

“We can go Drake, I’m sure you have more important things to do.” Damian says again, and really Tim would—but none of this is sitting right. This whole thing feels like an out of body experience, feels like maybe he should start quizzing Damian just in case he _is_ an imposter.

 

Holds the urge back and says flippant instead, “No, I’m pretty free actually.” _Not really_ but everything else can wait—everything seems fickle, _unimportant_ with Damian sitting across from him. Damian frowns deeply like he knows this and can’t understand why he’s lying. “Damian.” Tim shifts more fully towards him, “Do Bruce and Dick know about this?” _He has to know_.

 

His expression twitches but Tim can’t figure out what it means before he’s speaking. “If you mean the _bullying_ ,” He quotes the word but his voice sounds weird around it, like it’s a new term to him—and sometimes Tim forgets English isn’t his first language, how can he _not_ when Damian’s always throwing words the size of trucks at him? Still, Damian rolls his eyes all the same, acts unbothered, but Tim can see his fists clench—thinks it’s mostly an unconscious reaction as Damian doesn’t try to hide the tell. Probably doesn’t notice he’s _doing_ it. “Then no.” Says a touch quieter, “Not the extent.”

 

His eyes flash, throat swallowing—and Tim thinks it might be humiliation he’s holding back. “Damian.” Tim sounds carefully, “You do realize what I said back there was false. If they even _thought_ this was _happening_ —there’s _no way_ they would’ve let it continue.” Tim hopes he’s not lying; hopes desperately in his chest they would’ve _stopped_ this.

 

Feels doubt eat at his claim, because would they’ve? He remembers complaining about school, remembers all Bruce’s lectures—hopes desperately he’s not lying.

 

Damian turns further away; face hidden completely now as he looks out the window. Says more to his reflection than Tim, “I know.” But the uncertainty easily reaches Tim’s ears, and his heart clenches. Feels something like bitterness flow through his veins. _Neither of them should have to doubt this._

 

“Do you want to tell me?” Tim tries again, the words fall a bit awkward on his lips—he has no idea what he’s meant to be _doing_.

 

All he knows is his little brother’s being bullied—it feels a little like the end of the world. Damian? _Bullying_? Before today Tim had never even _thought_ about his school life.

 

Damian looks back at Tim again, assessing little eyes hiding vulnerability. Tim holds his gaze, waits for him to move, to _speak_. Damian does, his eyes moving away before he seems to force them back—jaw clenching around words he doesn’t want to say then— “Do you think I’m a terrorist?”

 

 _Fucking **what**_?

 

Tim’s mind blanks out. The question running around his head on repeat.

 

_Do you think I’m a terrorist?_

 

But then he blinks into comprehension and all he can feel is the steely rage burning up his insides— _feels beyond angry_. Nails digging into his palm hard enough to bleed but otherwise doesn’t let his feelings reach the surface—tries to stamp down the very real urge to find that _stupid little kid_ and _his stupid fucking mother_ and _destroy_ them. It’d be _easy_ , Tim could do it so, _so_ easily.

 

Her words creep into his head—the way she’d said _that boy_. The way she _looked_ at Damian.

 

Tim could destroy them _so_ easily— _and he wouldn’t even regret it_.

 

Mind gets drawn back to the car when Damian turns away, must have guessed something from Tim’s non-reaction—and nothing _good,_ at that. Tim feels guilt stab him again; wishes he was better at this. Wishes Dick, Jason, _anyone_ was here instead of him, so he didn’t have to fuck this up so badly.

 

“Damian.” Tim pronounces firmly, “Damian, look at me, please.” There is no way Tim’s having this conversation without Damian _looking at him_.

 

Watches Damian force his eyes back again like he’s waiting for punishment and hates it. Hates everything about this situation.

 

Still, Tim looks him straight in the eye and says with every ounce of authority he has, “You are not, nor ever have been a terrorist. _Do you understand_? Anything that _boy_ or anyone else says is born out of _poison_ _prejudiced_ and dogmatic _hate_ , Damian. They have no right to say anything against you—or anyone else, when you’re _innocent_ of everything but the blood you were born with—the blood _they_ see as a crime; _they’re_ _wrong_. Do you understand? They are so, so _wrong_ , Damian.

 

“ _You are not a terrorist_.”

 

Tim watches his eyes flicker away and feels his veins cool, because Damian doesn’t believe him. Feels his breath catch when he gets it; Damian thought he’d _agree_.

 

“Damian...” Tim draws his gaze back softly, looks into those too wide eyes and speeches heart aching for his too young little brother, “You’re not a bad person.” Wants to reach out and touch him but holds back; knows it’ll only cause all the wrong reactions. Knows his touch _deserves_ all the wrong reactions when all he’s done is hurt with it, however much it was mutual. “You are so incredibly _good_ the world’s undeserving of it.” _Too cruel for it_. “You’re _Robin_. Damian Wayne, you’re a _hero_.”

 

Tim hopes desperately he hears everything he can’t say.

 

 _You’re_ brave _and_ strong _and_ loyal. _You gave up everything you were taught to believe in because you knew it was unjust and that’s_ astounding _. You are so_ kind _under that murderous exterior it’s_ staggering _, and I know you’ll grow up to be better than_ every single one of us _. The world doesn’t deserve_ you _, Damian Wayne. But you’ll fight for it anyway—because that’s the person you are._

 

Watches Damian clench his jaw, feelings leaking through onto his face even as he turns away. Thinks _maybe not_ , but for now it seems to be enough.

 

Tim thinks maybe one day he’ll get to all the unspoken things and that’ll be enough too.

 

For now, they’re trapped to mingle with everything he _did_ say. Floating in the air, heavy in knowledge. All the things Tim knows are true but wouldn’t dare to mention, hanging in the silent car as Tim finally drives away. He hopes it _is_ enough.

 

They’re getting closer to the Manor when Tim’s lips purse—realizing something. “You know I’m going to have to tell Bruce, right?”

 

Damian makes that _tt_ sound, still turned towards the window. When he speaks it’s in the usual pompous voice—the one Tim loves to hate, “I assumed as much, _Drake_.” And the way he says Tim’s name is insult enough, but there’s a minute up lift to his lips—a slither of a smile.

 

And Tim turns away too, a smile on his face—because usually Damian’s high and mighty way of speaking puts his skin on edge but _now_. Well, Tim’s sad to say all he can manage to drag up is fondness; he’s sad to say he might just be starting to _like_ that voice. Well, it and the demon child attached to it.

 

It doesn’t sound so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no personal experience with either bullying or racism--so if this is completely inaccurate please come yell at me!! Seriously!
> 
> Also come yell at me if you liked this! Comments literally make me so happy, plus we'll become kindred souls to protect Damian and Tim for eternity. :P ;)
> 
> Oh! Also! If you guys have any prompts for me about the Batfam I'd be happy to write it for you!! So... yeah.


End file.
